


Bliss

by ribbonelle



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: 2nd POV, Fluff, I'm Sorry, M/M, PWP, Porn, dependence on someone who doesn't exist/?? idk man, literally nothing but porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ll never tell him yes out loud, though, you’re too righteous for that. Sometimes you hate yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my folder for months and its not even good so ijust. but still. take it. i apologize profusely.

“Kiyotaka,” he’s breathing out your name like it’s all he could do, like it’s the only thing he knows how to say, “Ahhh Kiyotaka, oh fuck.”

This is five levels above lewd and you want to tell him to cut the profanities, please don’t curse, Ishida, but your hips roll up into his anyway, and the friction is making your eyes prickle with tears. It’s so good, it feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced and Ishida is looking at you like you’re a deity, like you’re all he ever needs.

“Mmh, Kiyo, c’mon Kyoudai. Tell me how you’re feeling. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

He’s outrageous. You gasp on your words, breath hitching with desperation, “It f-feels, really good. But we c-cannot--,” you never finish, Ishida doesn’t let you. He bites at your lips instead, and you defiantly bite back. But you’re a hot-blooded teenager, and you cannot help your anatomy reacting to the friction.

You can feel how hard he is against you, you can feel how hard you’re getting, and in the passion-induced haze, you hook your legs around his waist for more access. Ishida of course, takes this as assent. It is assent, in some warped way, you’re too far gone in pleasure to stop him now.

He’s both a curse and a blessing to you.

“Mine,” Ishida breathes out, as if you needed any reminder of his mindset still, “You’re mine and no one can fuckin’ have you. Look at you.” You try to tell him something, anything, defy him or reassure him but the point has slipped your mind and he’s lifted your shirt up so his nails are dragging over your skin and you want to drown in him.

His hands; sculpted exactly like yours, he’s you, but not really; cup over your hipbones and he gets rougher, grinding against you to the point where it hurts. The starched fabric of your pants isn’t exactly soft, and you grunt your displeasure. He kisses you instead, and you cannot not return it. Ishida kisses you like he wants to consume you whole. The messed up thing is that you’ll probably let him.

“I want to fuck you,” He growls out after breaking the kiss, pawing at your pants in frustration, “I want to fuck you so bad, Kyoudai, I wanna see you writhe on my dick.” He’s so crass, he’s almost everything you find disgusting in your peers, but you cannot deny him. He’s too dear to you, too precious, and you don’t even know when the hell he came into your life.

Ishida bites at your lips with terrible enthusiasm and you have to suppress a moan or two before nodding, averting your eyes because you cannot look at him as you agree. It’s wrong, against a lot of rules because you’re underage but it’s not the first time you have said yes to him.

You’ll never tell him yes out loud, though, you’re too righteous for that (it probably doesn’t matter at this point). But the way Ishida lifts off you to gaze at you with blazing eyes, with desire and adoration somehow makes it worth it.

Sometimes you hate yourself.

He does it all for you, from the teasing to the retrieval of lubrication, even the removal of your clothes. He only takes off your pants and your boxers, leaving your sarashi because of reasons he’s told you before (he thinks it’s hot, in whatever sense of the word). You almost move to unbutton your uniform but he growls, and your hands stop in their tracks. “Don’t, it’s alright, I want to see you break rules like a bad school boy,” he blatantly says and you blush to the very roots of your being. You sometimes regret telling him you enjoy being treated like a student who has done something wrong. Sometimes you revel in his knowledge.

He kisses you again, hungry, the palm of his hand hard and heavy in between your legs and you moan into his mouth again and again, unable to stop your hips from jerking upwards. Another rough slide of his hand and he pulls it away from you, and you whine despite yourself. The sound of a buckle being undone makes you look away.

Ishida leans over you again and the way he pulls your face back to face him is uncharacteristically gentle, as if you’ll break if he got any rougher. He kisses your lips, sweet and slow, and smiles at you softly, “I love you, Kiyotaka.”

This is the part that makes it all worthwhile. Makes it all okay.

“ I love you too, Ishida,” is what you reply with and you’re the one who kisses him hungrily, prompting him into a breathy groan against your mouth. He tugs the fabric of your pants away and you shudder heavily as he reaches downwards right away, pressing fingertips against you. You hate it that he’s so experienced. You hate it that you’re used to the feeling of him inside you.

His fingers are slick and they slide in easily enough, there’s resistance but it ceases once you remember to relax, once he caresses your tongue with his own. Ishida can be very gentle when he wants to, sometimes it breaks your heart how carefully he touches you. You’ve never felt unloved but when Ishida makes love to you, it’s as if you’ve been missing out on so much.

He tells you you’re his, and he’s yours, and that makes it all okay too, somehow.

Ishida stretches you open and you cling on to him, torn between kissing his lips or gasping against them. You will not admit that you whimper a few times, but you will say that he does has quite some talent with his hands. His eyes never close, not even once, you realize, as your own vision goes a little bleary with unshed tears. It’s so good, you can’t help but cry.

“Ishida,” your voice breaks a little but you don’t care, not right now, “I am ready, please, you can continue.”

Ishida, the beautiful bastard, gives you this lazy grin as he drawls his words, earlier desperation gone, “Continue with what, babe? You gonna tell me?”

You want to think he’s trying to humiliate you, but his expression clearly states that he just wants to hear you say what he needs you to say. That shouldn’t be this endearing.

You blush furiously nevertheless, the heat consuming your features in red and you swallow, but you don’t take your eyes off his, “Ishida. I need you inside me. Please?”

He groans like you’ve just given him the most pleasure he’s ever had and he reaches down to push himself against you, eyes blazing with passion, “Fuck yeah, Kiyotaka. Only for you.”

He slides into you the same time his lips meet yours, and he sheaths inside wholly just the way his tongue fills your mouth. It’s so good, he’s so good and he rocks his hips gently and you almost wail into his mouth, gripping hard at the back of his neck.

No words are exchanged for a while, and you bask in the feeling of everything, of the skin contact and of how warm he is against you. His lips brush against your own again and again, comforting. The girth of him is ever present and persistent inside you, the burn of muscles stretching making your hips jerk, unable to be still.

But he doesn’t get the hint, he doesn’t give you what you want, what you need, so you growl and dig your nails in his skin, buck your hips so your cock presses against his stomach. “Ishida,” you choke out and he actually has the gall to laugh. You tilt your head and sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder and he moans, hips snapping into you hard.

You feel your eyes flutter close and your head falls back, while Ishida fucks you eagerly, the sound of skin slapping against skin making your cheeks burn. It’s perfect though, how he hits you right in the prostate every time (he knows how your body works, where it feels the best you love him you love him so much you’d die for him), and it’s fruitless to stop but you’re making all sorts of obnoxious, embarrassing noises.

You moan and you groan, you gasp and you half-scream from his pounding, at the words that breathlessly spill from his lips about adoration and feelings, love and plain desire. He makes you feel wanted, he makes you feel precious and you want to rip yourself open with the intensity of this pleasure, of this love.

“Kiyo,” his voice is a low burr, “Kiyo, Kiyo oh fuckin’ god, you’re perfect, you’re taking my cock so good, you’ll fuckin’ kill me one day,” You feel yourself shake your head violently, side to side.

“N-no, no, just keep taking me, just k-keep--,” your breath cuts off in pleasure, and he actually stops, just like that. Your head snaps up to look at him in dismay, but instead, you’re surprised. His red eyes (just like yours, exactly like yours) are dark and lidded, and he’s looking at you like you’re everything, like you’re his entire meaning.

You’d do anything for Ishida.

You grab at his head and mash your lips together, breaking apart only to gasp out, “Fuck me,” and he rams into you all over again. You lose yourself in the pleasure, in the wild writhing of your limbs underneath him, in the pressure pooling low in your gut, in the painful ache of your cock throbbing.

It doesn’t even take long after that, as you arch right off the bed and shout his name, white ropes of release splattering all over your own stomach and chest. Ishida keeps on driving into you,  overwhelming stabs of intense pleasure while the pressure bursts out of you. You clench at him unknowingly, half out of your orgasm and half because you want to make him lose it and he does, shoving himself into you so deep and floods you with heat, your name in broken stutters against your shoulder.

“Kiyotaka,” your name is a breath of exhaled air, “God.”

You couldn’t reply. Not even to tell him that no, you are not a holy deity, but you settle for loosening your hold on him, pleasure resting over you in a heavy veil. Sometimes you think you should be ashamed of what you do with Ishida, but that had never been the case. He ruined your sense of righteousness, you think. You don’t mind one bit.

Ishida lifts his head and grins, his face smug, content. You don’t have the will to wipe the expression of his face, instead you return the smile, hands sliding over his back and your hands cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. This face; your face, no matter how narcissistic it was; keeps you feeling alive. Ishida keeps you sane, somewhat.

He leans down to kiss you, and your eyes close in bliss. 

**Author's Note:**

> //Despite this thing being nothing but porn, I had Ishida as a figment of Ishimaru’s imagination in mind as I wrote it. It’s set after Mondo’s death and Alter Ego’s discovery, when Ishida began to exist. I like to think that somehow Ishimaru’s in Ishida, and vice versa, and they interact in some dark recess of Ishimaru’s mind. And fuck, but yeah ok I’ll stop.//


End file.
